Page 17 of Where We Belong

My greedy gaze tried to memorize as much of him as possible, just in case I left tomorrow, and I never saw him again. I hated him, completely and thoroughly, but I also wanted to trace the sharp line along his jaw, feel the light scruff along that cheek under my nails. I wanted to taste his lips, and then I wanted to walk away.

I’d tuck the feel of him away in a tiny mental box, locked away where only I could access it. He’d be a treasure, my very own emerald wrapped in leather.

Remembering that I was in his clubhouse, and I was sort of intruding, I blinked and ducked my face.

“I was looking for Callie.”

Killian’s gaze hardened, but within an instant, it went playful, almost like it did that night he had called me an over-sexualized caricature.

“She isn’t up here, and the only girls who do come up those steps are the ones who plan to fuck or clean. Which one will you be doing this fine afternoon?”

He crossed his arms and widened his legs, as if I were actually going to answer that.

Instead, I huffed an irritated breath and started back down the stairs.

A firm grip landed on my upper arm, halting me. My head swung around, glaring at the glint of excitement in his determined gaze.

“You’re trespassing. I can’t let that go unpunished.” His lips slung to the side in a devilish grin. “Not in this club.”

It wasn’t usually easy for someone to rattle me. I had made sure of that after leaving my life behind, after what my parents put me through. My insides were built from stone and steel, or so I thought. Two interactions with Killian, and it seemed as though he’d dug his fingers inside my rib cage and wrapped his fingers around wood and straw. He was the big bad wolf, blowing down my proverbial stone house.

And deep down, I knew I was completely fucked because of it.

There was no walking away from him unmarked.

When he released my arm, I felt like I could breathe. With a thick swallow, I kept eye contact and lowered myself another step. Retreating.

His calculating gaze tracked the movement, and that grin became feral. His tattooed hand shot out, returning his grip to my arm, and this time, hauling me up the stairs. My arm flailed behind me as he pulled me to the second floor and then pushed me into a small alcove off the side of the stairs. We were tucked far enough back that whatever Killian was about to do to me, no one would see.

My breathing came in and out, painfully fast.

One of his hands moved to my hip, the other framed my face. His eyes were focused on mine, almost like we’d silently entered into a staring contest.

“I won’t hurt you, Daisy,” Killian whispered, his lips a breath away from mine.

He wasn’t hurting me, but his body had essentially eclipsed mine and there was an odd feeling coming from it. I wasn’t afraid…I felt.

Fuck, I felt safe. How messed up was that?

“Daisy?” I tilted my head back, still unsure of what he meant by punishment.

Killian smiled, and it was hard to tell with the shadows, but it almost seemed like he was blushing. “Decided you’re not Jessica Rabbit. She would have pushed me up the stairs and tried to fuck me. No, you’re a different creature entirely.”

The reminder of what he’d called me that first day began staining the moment as effectively as an ink spilling over clean linen.

I lowered my face, but a tattooed finger lifted my chin, stopping me.

Green eyes glimmered in the gloom of the stairs. There was a good deal of natural light, but the sun had slipped behind a mass of clouds. Shadows emerged and settled around the floor, clinging to door frames, and those black and white photos littering the walls.

“Your punishment, Daisy, I’ve decided will come later when you least expect it. But let’s be clear about something. When you’re in my club, you’re my plaything. No one else’s. If anyone else approaches you, you find me. Do you understand?”

No, I fucking didn’t. I wasn’t about to fall into some toxic motorcycle club bullshit. Callie had sort of explained it, about the property patches and term Old Ladies and Sweetbutts…The old women were the married ones, or permanent partners…the Sweetbutts were just here to fuck…it was confusing for someone who hadn’t grown up in it.

I pushed at his chest and slid out from under his arm, quickly walking away.

“I’m not yours.”

Behind me, I heard him scoff, “you have it twisted. I don’t want you, but if you’re here in this club, then I own you.”

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